Right Next Door

Right Next Door Page 34

“I will in just a minute.” He turned back to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’re going with me on Friday night. Okay?”

“No…”

He cradled her face with his hands and kissed her once more, forcefully.

She gasped with shock and pleasure.

“I’m not going to argue with you, Carol. We’ve got something good between us, and I’m not about to let you run away from it.”

Standing stock-still, all she could do was nod.

He kissed the tip of her nose, then turned again and slid open the van door.

“What are you doing with Mrs. Sommars?” Jim demanded. “I’ve been standing out here for the past five minutes.”

“Hi, Mom,” Peter said, studying her through narrowed eyes. “Everyone else has gone home. Did you know you left your keys in the ignition?”

“I…Mr. Preston was showing me his…van.” She was sure her face was as red as a fire truck, and she dared not meet her son’s eyes for fear he’d know she’d just been kissed. Good heavens, he probably already did.

“Are you all right?” Peter asked her.

“Sure. Why?” Stepping down onto the pavement she felt as graceful as a hippo. James climbed in when she’d climbed out; she and Peter walked over to her car.

“I think you might be coming down with something,” Peter said as he automatically sat in the driver’s seat, assuming he’d be doing the honors. He snapped the seat belt into place. “There were three cookies in my lunch, and no sandwich.”

“There were?” Carol distinctly remembered spreading peanut butter on the bologna slices—Peter’s favorite sandwich. She must have left it on the kitchen countertop.

“Not to worry, I traded off two of the cookies.” He adjusted the rearview mirror and turned the key. He was about to pull out of the parking space when a huge smile erupted on his face. “I’m glad you and Mr. Preston are getting along so well,” he said.

Alex sat at his cluttered desk with his hands clasped behind his head, staring aimlessly into space. He’d finally kissed her. He felt like a kid again. A slow, easy smile spread across his face, a smile so full, his cheeks ached. What a kiss it had been. Seductive enough to satisfy him until he could see her again. He was going to kiss her then, too. He could hardly wait.

The intercom buzzed. “Mr. Powers is here.”

Alex’s smile brightened. “Send him in.” He stood and held out his hand to Barney, his best friend. They’d been in college together, roommates their senior year, and had been close ever since. Barney was a rare kind of friend, one who’d seen him through the bad times and the good times and been there for both in equal measure.

“Alex, great to see you.” He helped himself to a butterscotch candy from the bowl on the edge of the desk and sat down. “How you doing?”

“Fine.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Barney about Carol, but everything was so new, he didn’t know if he could find the words to explain what he was feeling.

“I’ve decided to forgive you.”

Alex arched his eyebrows. “For what?”

“Bambi. She said you dumped her at the restaurant.”

“Oh, that. It wouldn’t have worked, anyway.”

“Why not?” Barney said, unwrapping the candy and popping it in his mouth.

“I don’t have a hot tub.”

“She claimed you left with another woman. A bag lady?”

Alex chuckled. “Not exactly.”

“Well, you needn’t worry, because ol’ Barn has met Ms. Right and is willing to share the spoils.”

“Barn, listen…”

Barney raised his hand, stopping him. “She’s perfect. I swear to you she’s bright, beautiful and buxom. The three b’s—who could ask for anything more?”

“As I recall, that’s what you told me about Bambi,” Alex countered, amused by his friend’s attempts to find him a wife. It wouldn’t be quite as humorous if Barney could stay married himself. In the past fifteen years, his friend had gone through three wives. Each of them bright, beautiful and buxom.

They might’ve been the best of friends, but when it came to women, their tastes were as dissimilar as could be. Barney went for breasts, whereas Alex was far more interested in brains.

“You’re going to let me introduce her, aren’t you? I mean, the least you can do is meet Babette.”

“No, thanks.” The guy had an obsession with B-words, Alex thought. The next woman would probably be named Brandy. Or Barbie.

“You won’t even have a drink with her?”

“Sorry, not interested.”

Barney leaned back and crossed his legs, sucking on the butterscotch candy for a few seconds before he spoke. “She was first runner-up for Miss Oregon several years back. Does that tell you anything?”

“Sure,” Alex said, reaching for a candy himself. “She looks terrific in a swimsuit and is interested in world peace.”

Barney slowly shook his head. “I don’t understand it. I thought you were ready to get back into dating.”

“I am.”

“Listen, buddy, take a tip from me. Play the field, sample the riches available, then settle down. I’m happier when I’m married, and you will be, too. Frankly, with your looks and money, I don’t think you’ll have much of a problem. There are plenty of willing prospects out there. Only I notice you aren’t doing anything to meet one.”

“I don’t have to, with you around. You’re worse than a matchmaker.”

Barney ignored that. “It’s time, Alex. You said so yourself. Just how long are you going to wait? Gloria’s been gone two years now. She wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“I know.” At the mention of his late wife, Alex felt a twinge of pain. Time had healed the worst of it, but he’d always remember the agony of watching the woman he loved die.

“You want me to give you Babette’s phone number?” his friend asked gently.

Alex shook his head. “Don’t bother to introduce me to any more of your women friends.”

Barney’s mouth sagged open. “But you just admitted I was right, that it’s time to get out there and—”

“Remember the bag lady Bambi was telling you about?” Alex asked, interrupting his friend before he could deliver the entire five-minute lecture.

“Yeah, what about her?”

“I’m going to marry her.”

Five

“You know, Mom, I like Mr. Preston,” Peter announced over dinner as though this was a secret he’d been waiting to share.

“He seems very nice,” Carol agreed, reaching for a slice of tomato. She didn’t want to say anything more to encourage this topic, so she changed it. “How was school?”

“Fine. James was telling me about all the neat things him and his dad do together, like camping and fishing and stuff like that.”

“Your uncle Tony takes you with him.”

“Not camping or fishing and besides, it’s not the same,” Peter murmured. “Uncle Tony’s my uncle.”

Carol paused, her fork over the plump red tomato. “Now, that was profound.”

“You don’t know what I mean, do you?”

“I guess not,” Carol said.

“Going camping with Mr. Preston would be like having a dad.”

“How’s that?” She took a bite of her roast, then braced her elbows on the tabletop.

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

Peter lapsed into silence as he mulled over his thoughts. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that James and I talked it over and we decided we’d like it if the two of you got married.”

Carol was so shocked by her son’s statement that she stopped eating. Peter was staring at her intently, waiting for some sign or reaction.

“Well?” he pressed. “Is it going to happen? I can tell you like each other.”

Chewing furiously, Carol waved her fork at her son, letting it speak for her. The meat, which had been so tender a moment before, took on the quality of leather. The faster she chewed, the more there seemed to be.

“You may think I’m still a kid and I don’t know much,” Peter continued, “but it didn’t take James and me long to figure out what was going on inside his dad’s van.”

The piece of meat finally slid down Carol’s throat. She blinked, uncertain if she could speak normally.

Peter was grinning from ear to ear. “I wish you could’ve seen your face when Mr. Preston opened the door of the van.” Peter didn’t bother to disguise his amusement. “If I hadn’t been arguing with James, I would’ve started laughing right then.”

“Arguing with James?” Those three words were all she could force past her lips. From the moment the two boys had met on the first day of high school, they’d been the best of friends. In all the months since September, Carol couldn’t remember them disagreeing even once.

“We had an argument when we couldn’t get his dad to open the van,” Peter admitted, his mouth twitching. “Your face was so red, and you had this stunned look, like an alien had hauled you inside his spaceship.” Peter’s deepening voice vibrated with humor.

“Peter,” she demanded, furiously spearing another piece of meat. “What did you argue about?”

“We argued over what his father was doing with you in that van. What kind of son would I be if I didn’t defend your…honor?”

“What did James say?”

Peter shrugged. “That his dad wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want him to.”

“Those were fighting words?”

Peter shrugged again. “It was the way he said them.”

“I see.”

Peter scooped himself a second helping of the scalloped potatoes. “Getting back to the marriage part. What do you think?”

“That you need to finish your peas and carrots.”

Peter’s eyes rushed to hers, but only for a moment. Then he grinned. “Oh, I get it—you want me to mind my own business. Right?”

“Exactly.”

“But think about it, Mom. Promise me you’ll at least do that much. Meeting Mr. Preston could be the greatest thing that’s ever happened to us.”

“And when you’re finished with your dinner, I want you to stack the dirty dishes in the dishwasher,” Carol said without a pause. She ate the last bite of her roast, although it tasted more like rubber.

“Every time I mention Mr. Preston, are you going to give me another job to do?”

Her son was a quick study, Carol would grant him that.

“But you are going to see him again, aren’t you?” he asked hopefully.

“The garbage should be taken out, and I noticed that the front flower beds should be weeded. I know you worked out there last Saturday, but—”

“All right, all right,” Peter cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Enough—I get the message.”